AN: All of these ficlets take place in the IDW comic verse. Other than that, they're not really related to one another (unless you count the fact that I loved writing them because they're sent in the comics :3).


Perspective
Prompt: Explain Something
Characters: Arcee, Windblade, Chromia, Nauticas
Universe: IDW (vaguely within the "Dark Cybertron" arc)
Word Count: 499
Summary: Arcee takes a moment to contemplate her existence.


It was not natural.

That had been one of the many turbulent thoughts that had plagued Arcee since being abandoned by Jhiaxus. They were seen as a genderless race, but one source of tampering had completely changed that. Arcee had been the poor victim of circumstances—chosen on a whim, altered for the name of "science," and subsequently left with the single-minded focus of one day finding her revenge for what Jhiaxus had done to her.

Just because he could.

His actions deserved her vengeance—her anger. It had left her traumatized, alone, different. She had been violated on levels that few other Cybertronians could even imagine, and she was forever seen as different because of the mad genius' tampering. It also left her leaning over the precarious cliff of "sanity."

Arcee's anger for everything that was done to her had ebbed a little after spending those few, wonderful years constantly driving her blade through the mech's chests. It had made her a little more accepting—soothed her to the point where she could function on a less…psychotic level, she supposed.

However, the thoughts had never completely left her. It was not "normal." There was no other "fembot" that she had encountered during her long life on Cybertron. She was the only one, an anomaly created through science to function with the naturally occurring world around her.

She was alone…or so it had seemed

In the wake of the Necrotitan's defeat, Arcee stood staring at a trio of fembots conversing with everyone else. Arcee did not see the same anger or traumatization that had haunted her, making her slightly envious. They were happy with what they were; they did not even seem to question it! They were comfortable in their frames as they went about their business, not even attempting to blend into the mechs around them.

How was that possible? Certainly they had been through what she had.

"Hi!"

Arcee stared at the young fembot that now approached her. The strange paint marking her face stood out against her other dark features, and the smile was something that Arcee did not expect. "I'm Windblade, and you must be Arcee. I was pretty surprised to hear that you were the only fembot around here."

"Surprised?"

"Sure. There's plenty of other fembots back on Caminus. It's weird to see that it's not the same here too. Must get pretty boring with only mechs around. Let me introduce you to Chromia and Nautica."

Arcee refused to take the hand that was offered to her, but she followed Windblade to her other companions. Arcee listened to them in the rare calm anyone had nowadays. They acted no different from the others. None of it was unnatural to them. It was just a simple cultural concept outside of their own that they had accepted; it did not change them from what they were.

This was normal for them.

And that fact opened up a whole new perspective for the lonely fembot to contemplate.


Don't Like, Don't Read
Prompt: Tropes
Characters: Ultra Magnus, Rodimus, Drift, Whirl
Universe: MTMTE
Word Count: 499
Summary: Sometimes, life on the Lost Light is just one big fanfiction.


"Rodimus, we have a situation."

Rodimus didn't look up from the trail his laser left in his desk. When Ultra Magnus came to him with a "situation" it often involved some teeny-tiny problem that Rodimus didn't care for. Like some emergency exit wasn't up to standard protocol. Who really cared about that?

"This isn't a situation you can ignore, Rodimus." The captain jumped when a data-pad was slammed onto his desk. Drift, who had been silently standing off to the side, yelped when the laser nearly sliced through one of the finials on his helm. "I will not stand for such…such…defamation!"

"Look, Magnus, just because someone went and added footnotes to the Autobot Code—"

"They what!"

Drift smiled when Ultra Magnus automatically turned to glare at the former Decepticon, but the bigger mech quickly shook his head and pointed at the data-pad. "I'll investigate that next, but I strongly feel that this material should be prohibited on the ship, and the publisher rightfully punished."

Rodimus sighed, and the way his optics flashed indicated his disinterest in the tablet he picked up. Drift sidled around the desk to read over the captain's shoulder and visibly flinched when the flamed mech shouted. "What the heck—who wrote this?"

"Finally! We see optic-to-optic on an issue. I've narrowed down the list—"

"Even if you are bigger, I wouldn't let you top!" Ultra Magnus stared as Drift took the data-pad for Rodimus to point at his second-in-command in a very offended manner. "Let's get something straight here: I am the topper whenever—"

"Rodimus! You're missing the point here. Rewind nearly beheaded Tailgate when he read the essay labeled 'The Mini-Bot and the Mnemo-Surgeon.'"

"Other than it being completely inaccurate and horrifically written, there isn't anything I can do," Rodimus huffed. He didn't even want to know what on the data-pad made Drift giggle. "Besides, Rung uses this for therapy or something. Says it keeps some of the more antsy patients calm."

"Who would possibly write—?"

"Hey!" Attention was redirected towards the open door where the ship's resident psycho stood. Whirl stomped into the room and snatched the data-pad from Drift. "I should've known that you had something to do with my missing data-pad. If you wanna read it, you have to wait in line like everyone else."

"Who would possibly read that garbage?"

"Hey, don't like, don't read. Otherwise it's a full cube from Swerve's. Now outta my way."

Whirl stomped out of the office without any care for Magnus' glare. Rodimus shrugged and leaned back in his seat, pulling his laser back out. "Guess that's that."

"Rodimus—"

"You really wanna take away the only thing keeping Whirl from losing it?"

Ultra Magnus actually pouted and twirled around to leave the office. Drift waited to see if he would come back before leaning on the edge of the desk beside Rodimus' new doodles. "You wonder why Whirl would write that?"

"Nope. And I'm not gonna pretend to understand."


Hypocritical Oath
Prompt: Deception
Characters: Pharma, First Aid
Universe: MTMTE
Word Count: 500
Summary: Bad solutions to good intentions?


There was something about the dejected slump of First Aid's shoulders that Pharma actually envied. There was just…such an air of innocence in the movement that Delphi's head medic could no longer remember feeling. Pharma took a moment to admire the lost emotion before seamlessly falling into the role of comforting superior.

First Aid looked up from cleaning the clinical tools they had used for the surgery when Pharma gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Pharma offered the other medic a soft smile and gently squeezed. "We can't save them all First Aid."

First Aid sighed and wouldn't look Pharma in the optic. "I know, I know. It's just...I don't know. It was such a simple procedure and I—"

"Stop right there." First Aid allowed himself to be turned to fully face Pharma. He attempted to duck his head, but the jet wouldn't allow it. Taking the junior medic's head between his hands, Pharma met First Aid's visored optics straight on. "We're medics, First Aid—not miracle workers. We did everything we could possibly do, but sometimes even our best falls short. Death is the one incurable ailment that we all must face at one point in our lives."

First Aid hesitated before nodding, and Pharma once more marveled at the gentle, innocent glow of the mech's visor. A glow that foretold a mech who would believe anything. "You're right. I'm sorry with how unprofessional I seem."

Pharma grinned and shifted from holding First Aid's head to slapping him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it. I'll let it slide this once. Why don't you go see if Ambulon needs a hand?"

First Aid shook his head but began moving towards the door anyway. "You know Ambulon really is a changed mech. If we ever want to see the end to this war, we have to start looking past the emblems we wear."

"Uh huh, and one day Megatron will become an Autobot." Pharma kept his smile on until the door to the operation room had firmly closed behind a chuckling First Aid. The expression immediately dropped the moment he was alone, and Pharma glanced over at the covered frame that still lay on the table. When he finally moved, his movements were fluid and precise—a trained medic in his element as he delicately swept up one of the tools that still possessed flecks of Energon from procedure before. His steps seemed louder than usual, but he whipped the cloth back without hesitation.

Pharma stared down at the mech he hadn't even bothered to learn the name of. It made it easier, not learning the names. No one would care for an unnamed mech that "slipped away" during surgery. Trained hands sought the small panel that hid the object he desired, and Pharma took a final look at the deceased mech's face as the drone of his saw filled the room. "If it helps, you're saving many more lives now than you did when you were alive."


Rookie
Prompt: Practice
Characters: Flatfoot, Prowl
Universe: IDW
Word Count: 100
Summary: Even the best start at the bottom.


Flatfoot sighed, staring at the rigid kibble on the other mech's shoulders. The mech—a rookie with plenty of knowledge but lacking actualexperience—stood staring down at the greying frame: the victim of the current serial killer the I.M.D. had been tracking. By the faint colors that could still be seen through the grey, they had just missed their killer too.

The senior officer took a moment to pat the mech's shoulder as he passed. "Next time you'll figure it out before he strikes. Practice makes perfect, kid."

Prowl twitched and turned away, door-wings set at a determined angle.